


Knell and Chime

by malevolentmango



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, New Year's Eve, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 17:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9195875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malevolentmango/pseuds/malevolentmango
Summary: Just because something is a tradition doesn't mean you should keep doing it.Five New Year's Eve celebrations for Jesse and Hanzo, before and after they meet in Overwatch.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The years I chose for this fic were based on overgosh's Overwatch timeline, which you can find [here](http://overgosh.tumblr.com/post/147524579927/overgoshs-overwatch-timeline-the-information).
> 
> Thank you to my always-wonderful beta [Tsoleil](http://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorqui) for suffering through this experiment in present tense writing!

New Year’s Eve, 2066

 

_ Hanzo  _

 

It’s the shell of Hanzo Shimada that wanders the dark streets of Sapporo, about as far as he can get from Hanamura without leaving the country entirely. He keeps his distance from the crowds of people trudging through the snow to the Hokkaido Shrine, preparing for  _ hatsumode  _ at the dawn of the new year. 

 

Hanzo has no reason to join them. No amount of wishing will bring good fortune his way, not after what he has done. 

 

He pays no mind to the cold, the backdrop to his sleepless night, keeping his eyes on the ground in front of him as he follows the tracks of others through the snow. They have a purpose, he thinks, the people who made these tracks. He remembers distantly what that was like.

 

Hanzo only sees the slip of paper sticking out of the snow because his attention is so focused there. Some twinge of curiosity has him bending down to pick it up before he can really think about it, and he shakes off the excess snow to reveal a slightly damp postcard. A  _ nengajo. _ He remembers his father would insist on sending these out every year, an old-fashioned idea when most people now sent their New Year’s greetings digitally. The writing is simple, done in black ink -  _ shinnen akemashite omedetou gozaimasu,  _ a wish for happiness in the new year - and there’s no signature, as if the person who’d made it had been rushing home to finish them and dropped one in their haste. Across the top is a drawing of a dog, in gold ink.

 

The memory hits him without warning - their garden at the Shimada Castle in the late spring, a guard bringing in two Akita puppies as his father instructs Hanzo on how he will be responsible for training them, and a much younger Genji, his little brother’s delighted laughter echoing off the castle walls as the dogs sniff his hand and wag their tails.

 

Hanzo clenches his fist, crushing the friendly greeting into a ball before dropping it on the ground where it came from. He makes his way back to his hideout for the night, intent on chasing the sleep that evaded him earlier. Anything is better than wandering out here in the snow, listening to the shrine bell ringing in the new year with flimsy paper reminders of his past.

 

_ Jesse _

 

Ten years in, and Reyes still finds ways to surprise him sometimes.

 

The stakeout itself is nothing new, of course; Jesse is well used to the “hurry up and wait” style of Blackwatch recon at this point, the long nights of waiting and the heady rush of the fight that follows. But they’ve been in Dorado for weeks with little to show for their efforts, and it’s wearing Jesse down something fierce. 

 

He feels about as bone-tired as Reyes looks, but then, he can’t remember a time in recent memory when Reyes  _ didn’t _ look tired. The commander who’d been more a force of nature than a man when he pulled Jesse out of Deadlock all those years ago is still there, but he’s hidden behind the weight of time and trial. As if he’s lost more of himself to this fight than he’s gained back. 

 

“What’s the plan tonight, boss?” Jesse asks from where he’s sprawled across one of the too-stiff motel beds he’s had the misfortune of sleeping in for the entirety of this mission.

 

When Reyes doesn’t answer immediately, Jesse sits up. He’s lounging in an old, well-worn chair in the corner of the room that’s meant to be the sitting area, his comm device forgotten in his hand as he stares at Jesse curiously. 

 

“No plan tonight, Jesse,” he says gruffly, and the use of his first name startles him. Reyes nods his head at the other chair, flicks his comm off and tosses it onto the rickety circular table that completes the set with a sense of finality, where it comes to rest between two questionably-clean motel glasses.

 

Jesse clambers out of bed and sits where Reyes indicated, turning off his own comm as he goes. When he’s seated, Reyes reaches into the black bag at his feet and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. Jesse starts to smile as Reyes pours two fingers for each of them; when Reyes catches him, a small, reluctant smile of his own eases the tiredness around his eyes for just a moment.

 

“To sayin’ goodbye to this shit year,” Jesse says when they’ve both picked up their glasses for a toast.

 

Reyes snorts, clinks their glasses together as the church bells of Dorado start to ring outside. “And to saying hello to an equally shit one.” 

 

Jesse drinks until he forgets to feel tired, relishing in the artificial warmth.

 

~~~

 

New Year’s Eve, 2070

 

_ Hanzo _

 

He wanders, and wanders, and wanders.

 

The night is hazy, a combination of the weather and the supply of  _ umeshu _ he’d bought with his earnings from his latest contract. Hanzo can’t get used to the warmth here, misses the refreshing cold of winter in Hanamura. 

 

He immediately regrets the direction of his thoughts, but it’s too late, and no amount of drinking will drown out the memories once they’re at the forefront of his mind. 

 

He tries to drown them anyway.

 

But there are rumors that have reached him, even here: that someone is dismantling the Shimada Clan, ripping it apart at the seams, destroying the empire his ancestors had spent their lives building. And there’s a part of him, a coldness in the very center of him, that demands he return, a dragon’s call for the blood of those who aim to demolish his legacy.

 

There’s another part of him, one that grows stronger with each passing day, that will watch the remnants of his clan burn with pleasure. It will be nothing less than they deserve. His only regret is that he won’t be there to burn with them.

 

Tonight, he drowns both parts, until he’s treading the depths of a restless sleep, carried into blissful nothingness by a ringing in his ears that sounds eerily like the temple bell in Hanamura.

 

_ Jesse _

 

He’s never understood before what people meant when they said they felt loneliest when they were surrounded by people. But here in this backwoods bar, lurking at a dark corner table as the other patrons watch the countdown to the new year on an old holoset, he’s starting to get it.

 

The bartender had found it easier to just leave the bottle of bourbon with him, as long as he had the cash for it, which suits Jesse just fine. He has cash to spare from the last bounty he pulled, and no patience for the distraction of squeezing through the crush of people just to refill his glass. 

 

Guilt layers in his stomach with the bourbon, twisting him up as the people around him smile and laugh. He wonders what Reyes is doing, if he’s drinking too, if he’s slipping further into the dark hole Jesse hadn’t been able to pull him out of before he left for good.

 

Jesse drinks, clutching the glass with a white-knuckled hand, and watches the fireworks flicker across the screen. He has a sudden, vivid memory of a younger Fareeha, who would beg for days for Ana to take her to see any fireworks show in the area. She always did love to watch things explode.

 

He hopes she makes something of herself. He hopes she makes Ana proud. He hopes she never sees him like this.

 

The light show fades away, a background blur, and the joyous shouts of the bar patrons ring through his head like a clarion call in the darkness, a memorial and a harbinger all in one.

 

~~~

 

New Year’s Eve, 2076

 

_ Hanzo _

 

The skybridge overlooking the Bay of Gibraltar isn’t Hanzo’s favorite place at the Watchpoint, but it’s close enough to the atmosphere of the roof that he doesn’t mind too much being forced inside by the freezing night air. It’s still chilly out here, and he zips his jacket all the way to the top, resisting the urge to bury his face in it like a child. The one downside to facial piercings, he’s discovered: they tend to absorb the cold.

 

It’s only been six months since he joined Overwatch officially, but it’s starting to feel a little bit like a home already - the thought doesn’t upset him as it once would have. The sense of belonging to a place, to a group of people, after so long spent alone...reconciling with Genji would have been more than enough for him, more than he ever deserved.  _ This _ still feels like a dream that he hasn’t yet woken up from.

 

They are not without their maddening peculiarities, of course. There’s only so much Hanzo can take of Lúcio’s thumping music and Reinhardt’s barks of laughter, of Tracer zipping across the rec room to chat with Winston, and then to D.Va, and then back around to her girlfriend, Emily. A little bit of fresh air and space is all he needs. He’s just about decided to head back inside for the countdown to midnight when he hears a shuffling of heavy footsteps approaching, accompanied by the telltale jingling of spurs.

 

Hanzo looks up to find McCree, grinning widely down at him, clearly drunk even without the telltale bottle dangling from his right hand. He collapses down next to Hanzo on the floor of the skybridge, his long legs splaying out in front of him, his knee nudging into Hanzo’s thigh. Hanzo rolls his eyes.

 

“Howdy darlin’,” he says, offering the bottle to Hanzo with a wink. “Whatcha doin’ up here all on your lonesome?”

 

Hanzo takes one long drink, in honor of the occasion, and then leaves the bottle to rest between them, staring back out over the water pointedly. 

 

“Enjoying the view.”

 

McCree laughs. “Yeah, it sure is a nice one.”

 

Something about the tone of his voice makes Hanzo glance his way; McCree isn’t facing the dingy plate-glass window enclosing the skybridge, but is instead staring at Hanzo. He looks away when their eyes meet, reaching blindly for his drink. Hanzo’s not quite sure what to make of it. But it leaves a warm feeling in his gut that has nothing to do with the liquor.

 

A minute later, McCree is passing the bottle back to him and laughing at nothing in particular, launching into some wild story about the old days of Overwatch. Hanzo just listens, smiling at the exploits of all the people he’s just getting to know himself, although his smile turns bittersweet at the brief mentions of Genji. When McCree is deeply immersed in a new story, he shifts the bottle to his other side and makes a note to help the man back to his room later.

 

Hanzo leans slightly closer into the furnace-like warmth of him as the church bells ring across the bay, a counterpoint to the distant  _ bangs _ of the fireworks sailing gracefully over downtown Gibraltar, McCree oohing and ahhing exaggeratedly at the sight of them.

 

~~~

 

New Year’s Eve, 2078

 

_ Jesse _

 

Jesse’s never exactly been a stickler for tradition (and any smartass who’d like to argue about the state of his serape could take up their complaints with Peacekeeper instead), but he knows a pattern when he sees one.

 

It’s a continuation of what they accidentally started two years ago: whenever there’s a celebration at the Watchpoint, whether it’s a holiday or a new member or a particularly stressful mission that was successful, Jesse meets Hanzo outside for a few moments of quiet. Usually he finds him on the roof, but on a winter night like this, Jesse checks the skybridge first. And there he is, exactly where Jesse expected him to be. 

 

Hanzo smiles up at him, friendly and open, as if he's been waiting for Jesse to show up. Jesse very nearly stumbles over his own feet. He'll never get over having the privilege of seeing Hanzo's smile. He never wants to. 

 

He's not drunk enough for this, he thinks, as he sprawls onto the floor next to Hanzo with a forcefully cheerful “Howdy!” He's not out of his own head enough to sit here and pretend that every single thing Hanzo does doesn't make Jesse want him more. That he's not enamored by Hanzo’s laughter, by the way his muscles move beneath his skin every time he draws back his bow, by the quietly confident way that he doesn't take any of Jesse’s shit. 

 

Jesse wishes he could say any of this out loud. He wishes he had half the courage everyone seems to think he has.

 

Hanzo is the reason he's not drunk enough for this. Jesse had been well on his way to celebrating the new year drunk off his ass two hours ago, laughing at one of Reinhardt’s wild stories. But the concern in Hanzo’s eyes from across the room had the man’s words from months before echoing in Jesse’s head.

 

“I know this suffering, this drowning yourself in liquor to chase the sorrow away. I know it intimately. It will not help you or any of the numerous people who care about you for you to continue on like this.”

 

His memory mingles with the sound of Hanzo’s voice in reality, saying something about the time. Hanzo leans against his shoulder, sharing his warmth in the cold. Jesse hesitates, the push-pull of his thoughts like a dull roar in his head, but he eventually throws his serape over them both, and in the process wraps his arm around Hanzo’s waist, pulling him closer. There’s no mistaking the movement for simple friendliness, but Hanzo just smiles up at him, his eyes so wide and dark in the moonlight that Jesse forgets how to breathe.

 

And the reason Jesse’s never been a stickler for traditions is because he never has any good ones. He remembers all the years before this, all the times he rang in the new year to the sound of gunfire and the times there was only silence, liquor, and loneliness. He thinks, for the first time, that he’s looking forward to the new year in a way he hasn’t before - that it holds promise for him in a way it never has.

 

He hopes he’s not just kidding himself when he thinks Hanzo might not mind making a few new traditions. 

 

Jesse barely notices the clock striking midnight, or the fireworks going off over the bay, or the church bells ringing. But he does notice the way Hanzo’s lips move, the way he whispers “Happy New Year, Jesse,” into the stillness between their mouths. He takes a chance, decides he doesn’t need to make any resolutions if he can just get the one thing he truly wants before the year even really starts. Jesse closes the gap between them before he loses his nerve, presses their lips together in an achingly sweet kiss. 

 

He starts to pull away, starts to apologize. Hanzo’s hot breath ghosts into Jesse’s mouth, making him shiver, when he says “Do not be foolish,” and pulls Jesse back in for more kisses under the flickering lights of the fireworks far overhead.

 

Jesse is glad he’s not too drunk for this.

 

~~~

 

New Year’s Eve, 2084

 

_ Hanzo _

 

Hanzo has expected, after all these years, to somehow break his habit of lingering around on rooftops when he didn’t need to be there for the vantage point, but it hasn’t happened this year. He’s beginning to doubt it will happen in the next. 

 

It’s almost like old times - Overwatch reuniting to celebrate the beginning of a new year, and he and Jesse sneaking off outside to have a moment to themselves. They’re in King’s Row this time, making use of an old safe house. There’s no base at Gibraltar to go back to anymore, destroyed in the battle with Talon where he almost lost Jesse. He’s glad for Winston’s decision not to try to restore it; he doesn’t think he could face going back there, to walk the same hallways down which he dragged Jesse’s limp body as the life drained out of him. 

 

He owes Mercy a debt he can never repay, he thinks, for saving the two people in the world he cares about the most.

 

Hanzo is so very tired, and he knows Jesse is too, despite the smile that lights up his face when their eyes meet. Perhaps hanging around on rooftops will not be the only thing he calls an end to in the upcoming year.

 

He lives for these quiet moments between the two of them, with no battles to fight, no wounds to heal...no brother to tease him relentlessly about falling in love with his best friend. Genji is downstairs with the others. Hanzo sincerely hopes he’s not still going on about planning a wedding for them to whoever will listen, as he had been before the two of them snuck away. 

 

Not that he’s entirely opposed to the idea, he thinks, as Jesse suddenly frowns at him and says, “Darlin’, ain’t your head cold?” and tugs his hat off so that he can place it on Hanzo’s head instead. Jesse looks ridiculous, with his hair all flat except for where it flares out at the sides. He’s lucky that Hanzo is already so completely in love with him.

 

“You just like seeing me in your clothing,” Hanzo says. He gives the serape that covers them a shake from the inside, shuddering at the cold air that slips underneath it at the movement.

 

“Ain’t gonna argue that one, sugar.” Jesse’s grin is brighter than the stars in the sky above them. “You’d just win anyway.”

 

Hanzo snorts, burrows closer into his side under the tattered old cloth, Jesse’s arm tightening around his waist. The serape is so worn that its effectiveness at keeping out the cold is starting to come into question, but Hanzo knows  _ that’s _ an argument he would never win. 

 

And, he decides, there’s little point in arguing with a tradition at this stage. Not here, when he’s on the wrong side of 45, so far removed from the person who once found a wish for the new year in the snow and thought it to be some kind of cosmic mockery. Not when the promise of a new year no longer brings him sorrow. Not when he has Jesse, threadbare serape and all. 

 

Being up here to watch the fireworks means they’ll miss the champagne toast with the others at midnight. But when he’d suggested bringing up two glasses to share, Jesse had just shook his head, smiling. “Don’t need it,” he’d said, “You’re intoxicating enough for me already, honeybun.” The thought leaves Hanzo warm in a way that being draped in various items of Jesse’s clothing isn’t responsible for at all. 

 

Hanzo is brought out of his reverie by the feeling of Jesse shifting next to him in anticipation. He realizes he can hear the distant roar of the crowd of people gathered around the Thames, counting down to midnight. Jesse has already turned to face him, a soft smile on his face, and he has a second realization - that the fireworks aren’t what Jesse is anticipating at all.

 

Jesse raises a hand and cups Hanzo’s cheek, running his thumb gently across the high curve of his cheekbone. He brings their lips together as the first peals of Big Ben ring out across London. 

 

The fireworks crackle across the sky out of the corner of his eye, but Hanzo pays them no mind as he says, “Happy New Year, Jesse. I love you.” 

 

Jesse hums, his arm a solid weight around Hanzo’s waist. “Ain’t nothin’ I want more’n another year with you, darlin’. I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to freak out about McHanzo with me, you can find me on tumblr [here](http://malevolentmango.tumblr.com).


End file.
